


Not Deputy

by Firegirl210



Category: Sparks Nevada Marshal on Mars, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Actual married couple, Gen, Giant nerds, M/M, Name-Calling Manchildren, space western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Croach is not Sparks Nevada's Deputy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Deputy

“Well gosh, Marshal, thanks fer helping us get the artificial anti-gravity under control. I don’t know what might have happened to our space corn if you and yer deputy here hadn’t showed up and saved the day!”

“No, actually, he’s--”

“Y’all are such a brave pair! Much better than the last Marshal and deputy duo.”

“That’s mighty sweet, fellas, but--”

“What would we do without Marshal Sparks Nevada and Deputy Croach?”

The clonefarmers chattered and praised on, moving closer and shaking their hands, hugging, and generally making a nuisance of themselves, and Sparks sighed and pushed them away.

“Alright, alright fellas. You’re welcome, glad all’s well here.” He looked to Croach desperately, gesturing with his head at the waiting hoversaddle and robosteed in the hope that the Martian would get the hint. To his surprise, Croach was already staring at him, and looked away quickly when they made eye contact.

“Well Croach and I have important stuff to get to doin’ so...” Sparks untangled himself from the clones and hurried to Mercury before they could get him back in their clutches. Croach followed a few steps behind, and when they were out of earshot of the celebrating clones Sparks let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Whew. They’re a handful, huh?” he laughed, but the blue alien at his side didn’t respond. Sparks frowned. “Hey, Croach, what’s with the silent treatment?”

“I do not understand your question, Sparks Nevada.”

“I’m referrin’ to why’n you ain’t speakin’ t’me.”

“I simply have no response, Sparks Nevada.”

“Fine, whatever, defensive tone much,” he muttered back, and Croach’s antennae twitched irritably. They rode in tense silence for a few kilometers,

“You did not correct them when they incorrectly designated me your deputy,” Croach said suddenly, and Sparks groaned internally.

“Well I tried, actually, so this little...passive aggressive cold shoulder thing yer doin’...you can stop it.”

“My shoulders are not cold, Sparks Nevada.”

“No, it’s a figure of speech Croach.”

“Why are my shoulders cold?”

“They ain’t actually cold, Croach, okay? Why’re you all twitchy and bothered anyhow?”

“I am not your deputy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“To take a human role and assume a human occupation would be the highest dishonor. My people would exile me.”

“Well I didn’t call you my deputy, so bein’ mad at me ain’t gonna do a thing now is it?”

The Martian fell into a familiar moody silence, and Sparks rolled his eyes and let him stew as they rode into town. It persisted as they stabled Mercury, went through the Marshal Station and then trailed through town to the saloon.

“The Saloon Doors are open,” the AI announced cheerfully, “welcome Croach.”

“And greetings to you, Artificial Intelligence. Your doors have been freshly cleaned and are most transparent.”

“Why thank you, Croach,” the AI giggled, and Sparks gagged.

“Just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“What was that, Marshal?”

“Nothin. Hey, Barkeep, set me and my martian up with some drinks?” he suggested, taking a seat while Croach flirted with the AI. Barkeep pulled down some glasses, eyeing them suspiciously.

“You ain’t bringin’ trouble in my place, are ya Marshal?”

“No trouble here sir.”

“Good. What can I get you and yer deputy?”

“He’s not my deputy,” Sparks corrected, and tried to get Croach’s attention while he said it, but the goldarned Martian was focused on the feminine voice of the Saloon’s AI.

“Hey, can you ask me that again when he comes over?” He asked suddenly, and Barkeep gave him a look.

“Ask what I can get your boys?”

“No, no, ask just the way you asked the first time. If you can get me and my deputy anything.”

“But you said he ain’t yer--”

“I know what I said, Barkeep, just--just do it, okay?”

“If’n you say so, Marshal.”

Sparks assumed a casual pose as Croach finished his (super gross) flirting with the AI and joined him by the bar.

“You done?” he asked flatly, and Croach’s antennae twitched in a self-satisfied way.

“I have finished my conversation with the Saloon’s artificial intelligence, yes. It was the thirteenth most pleasant conversation I have ever had.”

“That’s nice.”

“It was the thirteenth nicest--”

“Yeah Croach, I get it.”

The Martian turned away from the human, assuming the aloofness he had been wearing all day. Sparks rolled his eyes and stared intently at the back of Barkeep’s head. He was cleaning something, paying them no mind at all. Sparks cleared his throat, but Barkeep didn’t turn. He coughed a little louder.

“Sparks Nevada, are you ill?”

“What? No, no, Croach, I’m just tryin’ to--nevermind, here he comes.”

Barkeep approached them, looking expectant. Sparks met his gaze, expression tense. They stared for a minute before Sparks gestured to the side where Croach was sitting.

“Can I help you?”

“Barkeep, you, uh, gonna take me and my partner’s orders?” Sparks asked, and Barkeep looked between them in confusion for a minute.

“Oh! You and your _deputy’s_ orders?”

“Yes--no, wait, I mean no! He ain’t my deputy, he’s just my Martian non-deputy like ridin’ companion. So you can just get that straight in yer head pal.”

“But Marshal, you just told me he _was_ yer deputy. Is he or ain’t he?”

“Sparks Nevada why would you purposely incorrectly designate me in this way,” Croach interjected as Sparks made ‘shut up’ gestures frantically at the Barkeep, and he cursed Martians and Barkeeps and Onuses and Signifiers and everything else too.

“No, Croach, I was tryin’ to make sure he heard you ain’t my deputy, and make sure you heard ‘im hearin’ it so’s you’d stop your weird sulkin’ and not talkin’ to me. Okay?”

Croach’s antennae quivered thoughtfully as he observed Sparks and gauged his honesty and sincerity or whatever it was he did with his 16 (totally gross) senses.

“You were attempting to make me...feel the human emotion designated ‘better’?”

Sparks folded his arms and looked away grumpily.

“Sure, whatever.”

“That is very sweet, Sparks Nevada.”

“Is not.”

“Indeed, it is. Quite sweet.”

“Mm, no.”

“I am developing cavities of its sweetness.”

“What? That doesn’t even-- just-- shut up.


End file.
